🏕️ At the Cottage — To Escape and Reconnect
I pull on my winter boots, my warm coat, and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Inside, I’ve tucked my plaid pajamas, a few of my favorite toques (I’m addicted to them!), books by local authors, magazines like Caribou, Beside, and Corsé, one or two bottles of Quebec gin (always!), and freshly ground coffee for those cozy mornings by the fire.
The ritual of getting ready for the cottage already soothes me—almost as much as the peaceful moments waiting for me at the end of the road.
Between the two lockdowns, I asked a friend if I could spend a few days at his cottage.
“How long and what dates?” he asked.
“To be honest,” I replied, “anytime, for however long—just soon. I need to get away.”
That pretty much summed up how I’d been feeling in recent months. Like everyone else, I had to cancel the trips—short and long—that had been such an essential part of my professional and personal life. Like everyone, my normal life was on pause.
When I arrive at the cottage, even before I open the door or the shutters, I can already breathe more freely.
Here, the air feels fresher.
The sight of the forest calms my anxieties in an instant, and the lake—even frozen, still and silent—draws me into a state of quiet reflection.
Like me, it looks peaceful on the surface, yet there’s movement beneath.
I’ve always believed that nature holds the truest metaphors for life.
As I open the door, I feel—as I do every time—that the place has been waiting for me.
It’s my arrival that brings everything back to life.
Here, time softens, and stillness becomes presence.
I bring life to this quiet refuge, and in return, it brings peace to me.
The cottage is one of the few places where I’m not afraid of silence.
Sure, I play music while I cook, but when I read, write, or doze on the sofa, I prefer the quiet — a quiet that lets me hear the world breathe: birds singing near and far, the river running, rain tapping, wind whispering, snow falling gently (or fiercely), and the fire crackling softly, hypnotically, perfectly.
At the cottage, even when I’m alone, I never feel lonely. I feel privileged.
With friends, in the before times and those soon to come, I’m the happiest city girl alive — a woman who needs nature to stay balanced.
I’m not far from home — just a few hours by car — but it feels like I’ve traveled miles away.
In this forest, I could be in Estonia or the Czech Republic.
It reminds me of my favorite journeys, but mostly, it’s a journey inward — away from the chaos of uncertainty and into myself.
In these uncertain times, I need these moments more than ever — these getaways that heal, no matter how brief they are.
A few nights here are enough to recharge me, to shift my state of mind.
At the cottage, I sleep better. I nap without guilt. I read and write freely.
The calm inspires me. The quiet restores me.
I play outside too — walking, running, biking in summer — breathing deeply, with a light heart and a full spirit.
I take time to cook like never before.
Here, time moves differently — it no longer slips away, but it doesn’t stand still either.
At the cottage, time regains its rhythm, its meaning.
And so does life — mine and everything around me — as if nature, too, were reclaiming its balance.
When I close the shutters, leaving the cottage neat and peaceful, I feel the same calm within myself.
As I turn the key one last time, I silently thank this place for welcoming me like an old friend — with warmth, simplicity, and kindness.
And I promise myself: I’ll come back to a cottage whenever I need softness, fresh energy, and a reminder of what truly makes me happy.
My little pack on my shoulder, I head back toward the city I love — not divided between two worlds, but ready to open my heart twice as wide.